THE LAST ROSES OF SUMMER

Summer can’t really be over when I see rows of roses, bridal pink hybrids and

masquerade floribundas frolicking in a gentle November breeze in my neighbor’s manicured garden.

Razor sharp prickles protect hidden voluptuous parts like scimitar armed eunuchs protecting the virtue of a harem of maidens.

He came over from somewhere with a bright blue-eyed demeanor, a jolly old fellow,

a rosy-cheeked gnome who looked like he dropped from the sky, with his belladonna

sized pupils exposing tiny Delft windmills twirling around in slow motion as if the wind

had died down.

His hands are stubby, strong, and have a way with the earth,

as he clip-clips and clop-clops around in wood shoes sculpting a cornucopia

of flora and fauna with an instinct inbred in his soul; he’s a tireless worker, effortlessly

working like a monastic monk at peace with himself; a Mandrake magician, without ever

waving a wand, he caresses clumps of dark loam with the splendor of sunshine and

crystal clear water into the best “muck soil” mother earth can provide, giving life to a

garden where hornbeams are “pleached,” an inspiring showcase with elegant lattice of euonymus and ivy.

Pollinating bees are still buzzing around searching for nectar with a hint of a scent,

twittering Finches flutter up and down gorging themselves as fast as they can on the last of

sweet seeds in flowers scenting the cowl of winter, wavering in every puff of the wind

like a ballerina’s pink tutu; translucent droplets of left over dew cling to the velvety sheen of petals, shimmering

tears mourning treasured days of  summer fading slowly away.

As I stroll by the garden I pause to inhale a lingering fragrance of roses,

reminding me of mother, named Rose, whose good-natured spirit must be here

in resplendent bouquets emitting untarnished perfume.

Flowers soak up the last of the sun on a chill morning, dark clouds float into view

splattering roses in a delicate drizzle as stamens and roots drink up rivulets of rain.

The roses regain bright shiny faces like a toddler who’s finished his milk and beams at his mother’s applause.